


Cabur'ika

by AdikaOfMandalore



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din is drugged, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, High Din is terribly adorable, Light Angst, Romantic Fluff, and chaotic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdikaOfMandalore/pseuds/AdikaOfMandalore
Summary: «Can’t feel my legs, cabur'ika» he mumbles, then giggles and presses his forehead against your shoulder.Blessed stars, this can’t be happening!
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin & You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 184





	Cabur'ika

«Mando!» you exclaim, lungs burning with relief when you see his silhouette standing between the black terrain and the cloudy, tempestuous sky of Ariarc, but whatever alleviation you felt, it quickly melts away when you hear him… humming a song? Perhaps you’re wrong, the rain is indeed quite deafening and drowns out every other sound, but, even so, where is the bounty? 

But you don’t have time to think too much of it, because, no less than a few feet away from the lowered ramp of the Razor Crest, the argent Mandalorian stumbles seemingly in his own boots and ungracefully falls to the muddy ground with a rattle of Beskar. He grunts and then… giggles. It’s barely audible above the downpour, but it’s there and it’s terrifying.

You shout his name once again and leave your spot against the metallic ramp mouth – away from the thunderous rain – and run to his still slouched form, nearly sliding at his side, before kneeling on the slush and, pressing a hand on the sleek, slippery armour between his trembling shoulder blades, helping him in a sitting position, the worn-out cape nowhere in sight. He looks leaner, without it, smaller.

«Mando? Mando, can you hear me? What happened? Are you hurt?» You blink furiously, hair damp and heavy with rain, clothes by now sticking coldly to your skin, while you look for any visible wound or trace of blood.

«So many questions, cabur*» he comments, between fits of laughter, the breathy sounds reverberating through the static of the vocoder. 

You move in front of him and take a hold of his shoulders in seeing him sway to one side. You are scared, but are you to blame? You’ve been travelling with him and his child for little over three months and you never heard him huff out so much of a chuckle, so this? This is not right. Especially if he’s returning, empty-handed, from a hunt that took him away for days.

«Mando? Mando, please» you plead, huffing in strain when he basically let himself collapse against you; it’s a miracle you don’t topple backward, crushed under his weight.

«Darts.» A muffled, slurred word, barely spoken.

«What?»

«So many miss… but one hit. Oh, hit me right! Right… there» he nonchalantly points to his hidden throat, tilting his head back so that you can give it a better look. 

It feels wrong, seeing him in such a vulnerable position, but you try not to think too much of it – nor the thin stripe of bronze skin you can easily glimpse at, now – and bend slightly towards him. And, fair enough, something got caught in the dark shirt covering his neck, perhaps still punctuating the flesh underneath; something small, cylindrical, glinting in the rivulets of rain running down the smooth surface of his helmet. 

He brings his gloved hands up, as if to touch your face, laughing softly, and that’s when you notice he’s shivering. And you are too. You’ve both been out there for too long and you don’t want to risk to catch a cold.

«We need to go take cover. Let’s go back inside.»

«Nope – he simply says, popping childishly the p. What was in that dart? – Like it here, with you.»

You hesitate, but, in his current state, it’s likely the man has no idea what he’s talking about, so you don’t pay much mind to his words. Even though they make you feel warm and flustered all over.

«C'mon, Mando, we gotta go back to the Crest. Your son’s waiting for you. Don’t you want to see him?» And that does the trick… kind of. He tries to stand; tries.

Next thing you know, he’s sprawled all over you and it hurts. The beskar is sharp and hard and the man underneath is not exactly a featherweight. Moreover, you can feel the mud going everywhere.

«Can’t feel my legs, cabur'ika» he mumbles, then giggles and presses his “forehead” against your right shoulder. Blessed stars, this can’t be happening! And then a horrifying thought hits you. Oh, Maker. What if whatever substance is currently coursing through his body is poisonous, lethal?

«Mando» you yelp, when he presses further into you, succeeding, at last, in stealing the air from your lungs.

«Is that all I am?» His voice is still scarily giddy, cheerful, but there’s some sort of a broken note, underneath.

«Wh-» He doesn’t give you time to finish.

«Mando? A Mandalorian? Is that all I am?»

«Of course not.» You’re not entirely sure you’re following, but you decide to play along, anyway.

«Yeah?» The faceless warrior sighs, eventually moving away from you. The rain immediately starts hitting you like icy bullets, but at least you can breath properly.

«Yes – you reassure, getting up and offering him your hands. Relief washes over you when he takes them without much fuss and helps himself up. You encircle his waist and nod encouragingly towards the spaceship waiting for you. – Come, now. One leg in front of the other and then we’ll look for something to treat you and everything will be alright.»

«’Lek*?»

You don’t know what that means, so you just tighten your hold on him and move forward.

—

The kid coos when he sees you enter through the lowered ramp and wastes no time in waddling his way towards the two of you, already making grabby hands to the bounty hunter half slumped against your side.

«Not now, little one. Wait just a moment, okay? Your daddy’s sick» you explain to him in the sweetest voice you can muster up. No need to frighten the tiny green creature, but he still has to understand he cannot jump in his father’s arms as he usually does, this time. The man can barely stand, let alone start playing with his son.

«’M not – Mando mumbles with a breathy chuckle, head lolling heavily against your shoulder. – I’m going to drop, now.»

«Wait, no – you beg in panic, frantically starting to move the both of you to his private quarters. Luckily, they are on that same floor, because you doubt you could make any sort of climb as of right now. – I need you to lie down in your bunk, first!»

«Tion'jor*?»

«Mando, I don’t understand what you’re saying» you huff, thanking with a small smile the child that, toddling a few feet in front of you, climbs in his father’s bunk and moves away the thin, wool blanket, before patting the mattress.

«I must teach you Mando'a, cabur'ika» Mando reasons, tapping your nose with a silent “boop”. You let out a strangled squeak in surprise and almost let his waist go.

«I would love to, but now lie down, okay? Please?» You don’t know what the bounty shot him with, but you don’t want to waste any more time and, as soon as he’s put, you’re going to grab the medkit and hope to find something. But what can bacta do, in these cases? He’s not physically wounded, he’s just… intossicated. Maybe you could try with some milk?

«As you command.»

Once Mando is spread out in his small bunk – the kid resting on his stomach and looking down at him with obvious concern – you pull out the dart and go retrieve the kit and, yes, a glass of warm milk. Oh, you are so glad you remembered to bought some in your last supply stop.

«There – you say, taking a seat on the bunk next to his left shoulder and handing him the glass and the straw. – Drink it, please.»

«You know I’d do anything for you.»

«I know – you sigh, exhaustion starting to take its toll on you. – Drink, Mando» you remind him, when he just… stops and seemingly stares at you. Hard to tell with the black visor reflecting your metallic surroundings.

«Why are you helping me?» he mutters, propping himself on his elbows and – thanks the Maker! – starting to obediently suck the milk trough the straw.

«Oh, this is sweet. I like sweet!» he exclaims after the next few gulps. The kid lets out an amused, loud giggle at that and Mando scratches him behind his leaf-like ears with a chuckle.

«It’s my job» you eventually answer, rummaging through the white box, but finding nothing remotely useful to your current situation. Except for his funny, unusual mood, though, he seems fine. Perhaps some rest will do; you can only hope so.

«Your job’s to take care of the child.»

«And you – you prompt, taking away the now empty glass and setting it on the ground at your feet. – You’re my friend, Mando.»

«Friend – he repeats, somehow sad. And then, hopeful: – Nothing more?»

«What did they hit you with? It’s like you have no filters» you wonder, nervously, not sure how to feel about all those drunk hints he’s throwing your way. He’s usually so closed off and silent, that you’re never quite sure he actually cares about you, let alone likes you. But now? With what he’s saying? You have to remind yourself that he probably doesn’t even mean it.

«It’s liberating.»

«I bet – you force out a smile and get up. – We should change for the night, now. We are still covered in mud, after all.»  
And, with that, something seemingly clicks in his mind.

«Don’t look! I’m a mess! Don’t look!» Mando shouts, strangled, ashamed, in full panic, suddenly jumping in a sitting position and almost sending the kid to the foot of the bed.

«Mando! – Putting your hands on his shoulders, you try to calm him down, while making sure the little green bean is alright. – You are covered in armour… you are wearing a helmet!»

«Oh – he groans, dropping once again on the mattress, which squeaks under the sudden strain. – That’s why it’s soo heavy, then? I wanna take it off.»

«NO!» You basically screech, taking his gloved fingers in yours before he can even starts to lift them to his helmet. 

«You don’t want to see me?» And you can almost feel him pouting.

«No-yes-no! I mean. Not like that. You’re not yourself, right now, and your Creed-»

«It’s suffocating.» That gives you pause.

«Do you really believe that?»

«I don’t know – he admits with an exaggerated sigh, mindlessly drawing circles on the back of your hands. – I’ve been following it since I was a child and now I don’t know who… who I am. Without it.» Freeing one of his hands, he taps thoughtfully where his temple would be, under the beskar helmet, then he hugs the kid to his chest, muttering him an apology for jumping up like that. The child coos and babbles in his small voice and rests his round head under his father’s helmet chin.

«My head hurts» Mando giggles, after a moment, and then he’s out, still holding your hand to his cheek.

—  
*  
Cabur: guardian  
Elek/‘Lek: yeah  
Tion'jor: why?


End file.
